W was recorded as a companion to 2020s ear-splitting No, Boris most punishing album since 2011s Heavy Rocks. The final track on No, titled "Interlude" opened the doorway for Ws quark yet deeply alluring strangeness; together their titles make the word "NOW." According to the band, their completed project creates "a continuous circle of harshness and healing." Many tracks on W are either continuations of or complementary counterparts to its predecessors songs. Opener "I Want to Go to the Side Where You Can Touch..." emerges from the same melody as "Interlude." It simply picks up the gauntlet and moves the music further afield; it ends up existing in a completely different, drone-based sound world. As guitarist Watas delicate vocals hover and caress the melody, the track sounds more and more like a collaboration with electronic composer William Basinski. "Icelina" is a five-and-a-half-minute exercise in blissed-out ambient guitars and ghostly, haunted vocals; its music is akin to the early work of Robin Guthries Felt project (circa Ignite the Seven Cannons). W is not all meditative bliss, however; "Drowning by Numbers" offers sinister beats, feedback, distortion, delay, and urgency as Takeshis rubbery funk bassline meets Atsuos trolling snares hard like Watas shard-like guitars and ominous singing. The shattering heaviness of "You Will Know (Ohayo Version)" sounds like an outgrowth of their work with Merzbow on 2020s collaborative 2R0I2P0 -- until a minute in, that is, when the chugging guitars, thudding low-end bass, and clattering toms-toms, cymbals, and snares collide and proceed into psychedelic noise. By contrast, the first half of "The Fallen" emerges as a silvery ballad before Watas guitar crescendos and her keyboards grind. Her voice fails -- and fails -- to emerge from the blasted sonic backdrop. The first few minutes of "Beyond Good and Evil" are plodding, rugged, and sinister in their glacial unfolding. Fingerpicked guitars, icy cymbals, and backmasked keyboards saunter in trepidation of what comes next. At the three-minute mark, the song drones into near silence until churning power chords and thudding drums framed by a low-tuned bass push it back into the mix, and then it jarringly gives way to "Old Projector." The Basinski vibe is back as field-recorded bird songs commingle with slowly undulant power chords, bright, ambient, orchestral washes, distorted yet restrained keys, and droning bass frame Watas questioning voice as it climbs from under the mix to carry it all into the ether. Closer "Jozan" is mixed to the point of near silence. A minute and 25 seconds long, it showcases Watas slide playing atop clattering snares and rumbling bass. Its formlessness suggests not an ending but an intro to an as yet unknown tune. W is not merely a counterpart to No but its polar opposite -- an album made of moments and atmospheres rather than songs. Nearly spectral in its articulation, this set offers a more elegant, restrained side of Boris than weve ever encountered before. ~ Thom Jurek

Rovi